


soup and sweetpea

by honeyteeth



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Comfort, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love, M/M, Marriage, Married Life, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Sick Character, Sickfic, and snufkin is...... press x to doubt, i wanna finish in one night but it'll probably be done by next weekend :/, listen. i just. need this, moomin is like snufkin im FINE please kiss me, oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 18:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18834451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyteeth/pseuds/honeyteeth
Summary: Snufkin, who still makes his winter trips after marrying Moomintroll, comes back one spring to find his husband isn't standing at the bridge.As it turns out, the poor troll has caught a nasty fever, and Snufkin gladly pampers his husband until he's better.





	soup and sweetpea

**Author's Note:**

> im such a sucker for soft things. ESPECIALLY soft marriage things

Moomintroll had moved out of his parents’ house around eight years ago. Snufkin can still remember that night, maybe seven months before he moved out when he was sitting on his bed with the little white troll lying by his side. They were deeply in love, but didn’t quite know it yet-- or they did, just not how to  _ express  _ it. 

Moomintroll was on his back, eyes closed and hands laced behind his head, Snufkin in the same pose. His eyes, however, were open, sneaking little glances at the fuzzy white troll, watching his chest rise and fall and his eyelids flutter. 

Suddenly, he opened his eyes and turned towards a very startled Mumrik. “Snufkin,” he had said, a glimmer in his eyes. “I am eighteen years old tomorrow, and still living with Mamma and Pappa.” At first, Snufkin could see no problem; in Moominvalley, it was quite normal to live with your parents for longer than usual. “I have my freedom, but I’m not  _ truly  _ free, because they still have some authority over me. So how about I build my  _ OWN  _ house? The Snork could help me make plans, and I can build it! Maybe even with you, Snufkin,” at this point, his voice had dropped to a whisper, and he was holding fast to Snufkin’s paws, eyes glimmering. “I could build a house and I could live there and I could be free to do what I like and become brave by living by myself.”

Of course. Freedom. Snufkin had smiled and nodded, telling his friend-- his almost lover-- what a marvelous idea that was. 

The Snork and Moomintroll worked for weeks on end making blueprints and gathering materials before the building actually commenced. In five months, with plenty of help from the whole of Moominvalley, the house was finished. In two, it was completely painted, furnished, and entirely a home. While they were building and furnishing, Snufkin and Moomintroll realized something, and that year before the Mumrik left, he kissed his best friend soft and sweet before trekking off. 

 

Five years later, Snufkin asked in a hands-cupped-around-mouth yell whether Moomintroll would marry him or not right before he was about to enter his new home to hibernate. By the time the troll had turned around and very furiously stumbled back to the bridge to yank Snufkin back, the Mumrik had already scuttled away. Spring came, and the first thing Moomintroll did was mash Snufkin in a hideously sloppy and uncoordinated kiss, yelling that  _ yes,  _ you absolute idiot, you complete  _ dick,  _ I WILL, in fact, marry you! 

It was the most wonderful day of the Mumrik’s life, and he would never forget the way he felt, holding his fiance in his arms that first day of spring.

Three years had passed since then, and the two were happily married. At first, Snufkin was afraid marriage would bind him and trap him-- but it was much, much better than he could have ever anticipated. Moomintroll let him have his annual trips, didn’t force him to live in the house (Snufkin made that decision on his own. He had his own room for when he wanted solitude, and still had his tent, but for the most part, there was nothing better than living with the little troll). It was perfect, more perfect and wonderful than the Mumrik had ever imagined. He loved his dear Moomintroll, and Moomin loved him right back. 

 

This was something very pleasant to think about as Snufkin walked home on the first day of spring. The valley was just up ahead, and once he reached that, it was a short walk to his husband’s house. The small, two-story cabin, painted white with a pink roof, was a beacon of warmth and light and everything soft in the world. Of course, the two still met up at the old bridge as they had for so many years. Muscle memory. Coded into his bones, into his tendons and joints, into every fiber of his body; the bridge called to him, and above all, the thought of Moomintroll, waiting patiently, pushed him forward. 

As he reached that oh so familiar path, he couldn’t stop himself from beaming. Someone would be there, waiting for  _ him,  _ and over time he finally learned how nice it was to have something-- some _ one _ \-- he could truly call home. 

However, upon reaching the end of the path, upon peering through the fresh new leaves and fragrant blooms newly sprouted from the earth he saw… Nothing. No Moomintroll in sight. He walked up to the bridge, brushing a hand over the sturdy oak, years of wear and tear and splinters pressing back against his palm. It still held so strong after all of these years, still maintained it’s firmness and could still be trusted to sit upon, to run across, to hold two small beasts embracing one another after months of longing and wishing. But that wasn’t happening, and Snufkin began to feel knots form in his stomach as he began to wonder  _ why.  _ Had his husband grown tired of meeting him? Had he grown tired of him altogether? Did he find someone new? Perhaps he and Snorkmaiden had rekindled the relationship they had had years and years ago, back when they were just kids. Or maybe this wasn’t even about their romantic relationship-- maybe something awful had happened? To Moominmamma or Pappa, to Moomintroll himself. Panic began to set inside of the Mumrik’s heart, and he brought up his claws, chewing the ends of them. 

Snufkin looked up, in the direction of his and Moomintroll’s house, and to his relief, saw smoke rising in thick tendrils and curls from the chimney. Maybe the little white troll had just forgotten, Snufkin thought as he took off towards the house. Though he wouldn’t have, he was the one who started all of this in the first place. He didn’t forget things easily anyways. Snufkin’s tail twitched nervously whilst he ran along the bank of the river. The house was located a little further down, in a thicket of trees that acted as a shield from the rest of the world. It was close enough to the river that the two could fish and swim and gather water, but deep enough in the trees that it was private and comfortable and cozy. The Mumrik peeled off beyond the treeline, looking for the familiar rock trail that led up to the house, fiddling with the wedding ring on his finger. Snufkin wasn’t one for material possessions, but this was something he wanted to keep forever.

At long last, the trail came into view, and along with it the garden. Moominmamma had insisted that they have a garden, so they worked for days on end and finally built one. Choked full of carrots and parsnips, parsley and onions and peppers, melons and pumpkins and a whole separate patch for strawberries. There was even a peach tree right near the house, already starting to bloom. In fact, all across Moominvalley, plum and cherry and peach and apple trees were starting to bloom once more, filling the valley with an intoxicating fragrance and beautiful petals. During times like these, he and Moomintroll would be curled up beneath one, gazing into one another as the petals fell around and on them, getting caught in their hair and in the tufts of their tails.

Snufkin worried that his beloved husband didn’t want to curl up under the fruit trees anymore. He worried all the way to the front door, which he was about to fling open when he heard the Snork’s scolding voice from the inside, muffled across the barrier. 

“No, Moomin, you can’t go out right now! Your condition will only get worse! Stop trying to fight it!” 

“Listen to my brother, Moomintroll!” Snorkmaiden’s voice, high and sweet as usual, was next. Snufkin couldn’t bring himself to open the door. Condition? 

“Your loverboy will be right back, all wrapped around your little finger like usual. You know he can’t stay away from you for too long. He might wait at the bridge for a bit, but I know he’ll rush right here after you haven’t shown up. And if not? Well, he’s stupid, so I’ll get him for you.” Little My was speaking now. Her voice, though a little more mature as the years passed, still had that mocking, youthful ring to it. 

“Yes, but what if he  _ worries! _ Oh, I’ll be so sad if he worries. I really must see him, Snork, let me  _ go--!”  _ The sound of Moomintroll’s voice, if not struggling a little, was enough to soothe Snufkin’s nerves completely. Relief washed over him, and he instantly felt silly for thinking up so many awful scenarios that he knew would never happen. 

He allowed himself a soft laugh, reaching out and clicking the door open. “What’s with all of the racket?” He asked upon entering, feigning calmness in his voice. He let the door shut behind him, arching his bad a tad to let his rucksack fall from his tired shoulders. 

“Snufkin!” Moomintroll cried from the mustard yellow couch Snork was restraining him on. 

“Oh, you’re back, that’s good. I thought Moomin was going to die from illness right here and now until you came in.” Little My crowed her snarky greeting, smiling lightly at her younger brother. 

“Illness? Whatever happened?” Worry, once more, set into the Mumrik’s chest as he looked over at his husband, who did indeed look rather flushed and pale, even for someone with naturally pale features. His fur was matted and eyes bloodshot, deep purple bags underneath them. He looked rather weak, too. 

“Moomin woke up early.” Snork began, sighing and relinquishing his grip on the troll, who had since given up and was lying, tired and drained, on the couch. “He was awake before most of us, and since it was only a few days before spring, waited for you a bit early. Every day, every night, he’d just sit on that bridge. I use my winters to work instead of hibernating so I would visit him every so often. When I asked him why he kept sitting there, he only said ‘Snufkin,’ and that was usually enough for me to understand. But I believe he took it too far.” He clicked his tongue, reaching up a paw to adjust his glasses.

“According to Snork, he caught a nasty cold just two days before we all woke up,” Snorkmaiden piped up. “Moomin has been desperately trying to get to you all morning long, Snufkin, but we just can’t let him,” she sighed, shaking her head, bangs waving this way and that with her head movements. 

Snufkin laughed, relieved that this was all just a little slip-up and not something completely life-changing. “You silly Moomin, why would you do that? You know I don’t turn up early,” affection dripped like honey from his voice, and Moomintroll’s ears fluttered happily. 

“I thought it  _ was  _ the first day of spring. Snork told me it wasn’t, but I suppose I thought he was kidding. He wasn’t, evidently. But oh, Snufkin, I thought you weren’t coming back,” the troll whined, now simpering at the Mumrik, sugar-spun softness thick in his baby blue eyes. 

“You know I can’t stay away from you past wintertime, my dove,”

“You’re both disgusting, shame on you Snufkin for making your sister even be in the same  _ room  _ as this sappy junk,” Little My was tugging Snorkmaiden along to the door, sticking her tongue out far. Snork laughed, shaking his head and following his sister out. 

“We have extra heating pads if you’d like, Moomin. Just let me know and I’ll bring some to you,” Snork offered before clicking the door shut as he left. Once he did, Moomintroll stood up, all wobbly and clumsy, and gently grasped the ends of Snufkin’s yellow scarf. The wedding ring held tight to his soft white paw, catching the light on the window. Like the Mumrik’s, it was made of a gemstone instead of gold, gemstones that, in their youth, they had found. The rocks had to be altered quite a lot, but in the end, Snufkin wore a beautiful moonstone and Moomintroll a sweet rose quartz.

The troll tugged lightly on Snufkin’s scarf, pulling him down as he tilted his large white head in an angle that they managed to figure out was quite comfortable for them by kissing standards. Snufkin longed to press his lips to his husband’s, ached to wrap him up in a big hug and just snuggle with him the remainder of the day. However, as it turned out, he was  _ very  _ sick, the Vagabond could see it in the way his breaths were labored and how hard he was shivering and how purely exhausted he looked. So, as much as it hurt, he broke himself free of the spell and pushed his husband back. 

“Nononono, we both know you’re sick. And if  _ I  _ get sick, then who will take care of you? My dear heart, I’m afraid I can’t kiss you-- properly, at least-- until you’re better.” Snufkin scolded gently, instead nuzzling into Moomintroll’s snout and giving him little butterfly kisses in the space between his eyes. 

“That’s not fair, you know,” he teased. “I had to dream of kissing you and holding you and greeting you all nice and sweet in the spring, and now that you’re finally back you’re telling me I have to  _ wait?  _ You really are so mean, Snufkin.” 

“I know, my love. Terribly rude of me.” 

“Just one kiss? It’ll be harmless, I promise you. Your immune system is strong, isn’t it? I imagine it can take one little cold,” 

“Yes, my dove, but that would make it difficult to cater to your needs,” Snufkin was now reaching down to scoop Moomintroll up, who gave a soft “oh!” as he did so. 

“Snufkin, you don’t have to do that, I can walk… Besides, I think I’ve grown too heavy for you,” 

“Oh, absolute hogwash, my sweet. I could carry you any day. Now come, we must put you to bed,” his voice was laced with sweet nothings to come and sugar crystals, of all of the promises of spring and the perfect year they had ahead of them. “I can make you some soup if you’d like, honey. Sound good?” He was halfway up the stairs, soon reaching the last step and walking down the small hallway. His personal room was off to the right near the end of the hall, right next to Moomintroll’s, which was at the very end. The colors of the familiar house filled Snufkin to the brim with a feeling of home, which was welcomed with open arms after being alone the whole winter. Brown wooden floors and cream-colored walls. The bedrooms, the bathroom, and the kitchen had wallpaper with tiny pink roses scattered about it. Plants found their way into every crevice, well-loved and deeply cared for, thriving when Moomintroll did and resting with him in the winter as well. The whole house smelled of peach blossoms and rosewater, one of Snufkin’s favorite combinations of scents. He was here, he was home. 

The Mumrik used his foot to push open Moomintroll’s door, which was already ajar, the rest of the way, hinges creaking familiarly as he did so. He breathed in, sighing softly and letting his eyelids flutter closed as he carefully walked his large husband over to the bed and used his foot to pry back to covers. 

“Snufkin, no boots on the bed…” Moomintroll scolded jokingly. 

“You still have that rule? I thought it was only your mother’s,” 

“It’s still a good rule to have, regardless of who it originated from,” the troll offered a smile, which turned into a small cough. Snufkin shook his head and set him down, smiling warmly at the Moomin. He dragged newly washed sheets (Moomintroll had probably done a bit of spring cleaning while he waited) over the shivering body, before pressing his paw against the troll’s forehead. 

“Hm, you’re definitely very hot,” he pondered, nodding slowly. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” came the sniffly reply. Snufkin rolled his eyes. 

“Please save the sweet-talk for when you aren’t congested, my dove,” 

“I’m hurt, Snufkin, how could you?” Moomintroll gave the Mumrik wide puppy eyes, doing that little thing with his eyebrows that always made the Vagabond melt. “Don’t you love me?”

“Of course, but you are rather disgusting right now,” he crooned, unable to resist leaning down and landing a firm smooch on top of Moomintroll’s head. His ears flapped, and despite his best efforts, he smiled a little, sick smile. “I’m going to go make you some soup, okay? Just shout if you need me.”

“Oh, but I need you now! I haven’t seen you all winter! My sweet Snufkin, you can’t leave,” 

“But it will only be for thirty minutes or so,” 

“That’s too long! I need…. Husband…” Snufkin laughed at this, leaning down and nuzzling the Moomin’s snout with his own nose, smiling warmly all the while. 

 

The pot sputtered as the tomato sauce and vegetable broth inside began to boil, and Snufkin quickly reached over to turn the heat down. His hat had been discarded on the nearby table, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he chopped onions, potatoes, carrots, and celery into chunks to be poured into the soup. As he did so, he let himself get lost in his thoughts. About how strange his whole situation was-- wonderful and beautiful and very happy, yes, but strange all the while. He remembered promising himself he would  _ never  _ settle. Not for anyone. He had never had a friend before Moomintroll because he hated making close connections. He flat out refused to root himself for absolutely anyone. So he spent his days like that, never meeting long enough for a bond to form, never falling in love, never letting himself feel  _ anything.  _ It was just him, his hat, and his rucksack. That was all. 

Until, of course, the remarkable little Moomin stumbled into his life, all smiles and sunshine and warm spring afternoons. He was  _ perfect,  _ round and beautiful and everything Snufkin knew he couldn’t be. But over time he realized he didn’t want to be the troll, he realized he wanted to be  _ with  _ him. It was scary at first. Terrifying, paralyzing,  _ awful.  _ But soon… he found that life with Moomintroll wasn’t caging like he thought it would be. It was freeing, actually. And he loved it. 

Before he knew it, he was asking the troll to marry him, and they became husband and-- well, husband. The Mumrik still remembered the joyous look on Moomintroll’s face when he came back the spring after proposing. Still remembered being toppled to the ground with a hug, still remembered the day of the actual wedding. It was all like a very good dream, one that he never wanted to wake up from. And he considered himself the luckiest man on the planet to know that he wouldn’t wake up-- he wouldn’t have to, because the reality of it was that he was married to Moomintroll and no dream was sweeter than that. 

Snufkin poured the chopped contents into the broth, setting the lid on and turning the heat up a notch. He had learned to cook once he proposed to the troll, teaching himself all winter long. He made Moomintroll his favorite meal, much to the boy’s surprise, upon his arrival. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough to make the troll smile through each bite, and that was more than enough for Snufkin. 

The soup, eventually, was cooked to perfection, piping hot and full of thick chunks of vegetables. It smelled a bit like earth and campfire, which, to Snufkin, seemed like the most marvelous thing food could smell like. He turned the heat off and placed the lid back on, rummaging around for what he’d need to get the food to his husband.

Carefully, he used a ladle to pour a cup or so of soup into a little ceramic white bowl, placing a small spoon in as well. Watching each step carefully, he creaked up the rickety wooden staircase, bowl in hand, moving with great caution as not to let even a drop of the contents spill over the rim. Slowly, deliberately, he walked, staring at the liquid as though he could will it to stay put. 

“Guess who?” Snufkin called, carefully opening the door and bumping it open with his hip. 

“My love, back from years out at sea!” Moomintroll dramatically slapped the back of his paw to his forehead, fluttering his eyelashes daintily. 

“Seven years,” Snufkin replied, using his foot to close the door. “my love, not even the sirens could call me away from you; they sang sweetly with promises of luxury and lovers, but alas, there was only one thing that could quench my aching heart,” Moomintroll giggled at this, though it was interrupted with a coughing fit, causing Snufkin to rush the rest of the way to the bed, putting the soup down on the dresser and kneeling to comfort his spouse.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m fine. I promise,” he smiled sloppily up, eyes bloodshot and tired. 

“Oh dear.” Snufkin shook his head, leaning down and pressing his forehead to the troll’s. “You really should eat some soup, my love. It will clear your throat, and do wonders to help that nasty little cold of yours,” he heard the Moomin hum in reply, slightly more flushed when he pulled his head back. 

“I would but… I’m far too weak,” once again, he was in a playful mood, only wanting to joke around with the person he had waited so long to return. He faked going limp, letting his pudgy white arms fall to his side with two  _ thumps.  _ Snufkin rolled his eyes, though there was clearly a smile present on his lips. 

“Well, that is quite the problem, hmm? Would you like me to feed you?” 

“It’s the only way, I’m afraid,”

“I married such a drama queen.” Snufkin laughed sweetly as he picked up the bowl, sitting on the edge of the bed and scooping up a spoonful of soup. He blew on it to cool it off, before offering it to the pale troll, who gladly slurped it up with a satisfied hum. 

“Yes, I’m afraid you did. That’s good soup, what recipe did you use?” 

“I made it up. It’s kind of like my new spring tune each year,” at this point, Moomintroll had decided to drop the theatrics and gently pry the bowl from Snufkin’s grasp, leaning in for another spoonful. “I decided that not only will I come home each spring with a new song, but a new dish as well. Or, at least as many as I can think up,” 

“You’re so wonderfully talented and so dreadfully handsome, my sweet, how on earth did I manage to make you fall for me?” 

“I’m afraid you didn’t have to do anything, I fell for you all on my own. Though it wasn’t rose petals and summer breezes as I was promised. More like….. Well, more like somebody pushed me down a jagged, rocky cliff.” 

“How romantic you are with your words,” Moomintroll scoffed, grinning through another bite. 

“Well, I had never been in love before! You can’t blame me for being absolutely terrified by the experience. I almost ran away, but I’m so glad I didn’t--” 

Moomintroll sneezed mid-bite, spraying a bit of soup out of his nose. He blinked, wide-eyed and newly flushed, as it dripped unattractively from his mouth. 

“ _ So  _ glad,” Snufkin confirmed, stifling back a barrage of giggles and offering a tissue to his husband from a box already on his bedstand. “you’re so gross.” 

“Thank you--” he accepted the tissue and awkwardly wiped away the soup. “--yes, I suppose right this  _ moment  _ I’m a little disgusting, but that’s alright, you’re already married to me. And besides, you’re grosser.”

“How so, garden hose?” Snufkin teased. 

“At least I’ve  _ bathed.  _ You’re still covered in dirt and dead bugs and I don’t even know what else. You smell like you’ve been dragged through manure then milk before walking eight hours in a hot desert.” The troll scrunched his nose up, going back to eating his soup, closing his eyes matter-of-factly.

“That’s so specific! And rude! It isn’t that bad--” he lifted his shirt to his nose and took a breath, instantly regretting his decision. “--okay maybe it is, maybe you’re right. I’ll take a bath now if you’d like,”

“And just leave me behind again? To rot? No way.” Snufkin laughed at Moomintroll’s exclamation, sinking deeper into the mattress. “Besides, I’ve been sweating out my fever. I’m not all flowers and rosebushes myself,” Moomintroll sounded embarrassed, but he was smiling anyway. 

“Once you get better, I say we do a nice spring clean,” Snufkin kicked off his boots and set his hat down, leaning back on his hands. He wanted to crawl into bed with his dear Moomin, but of course, he couldn’t get sick. “I’ll even get a headstart. While you’re sick, I’ll clean the house, then when you’re better, you can join me and help. Deal?” 

“It’ll do, I suppose,” Moomintroll smiled, placing the mostly empty bowl onto his nightstand. “that was delicious, by the way. Your cooking has grown wonderful over the years,” his voice was sleepy and content. 

“Yes, well, I did learn for you. So I had to make at least  _ some  _ improvement,” the Mumrik’s voice had grown uncharacteristically soft and shy, and he cast his gaze down, eyelids half-mast, smile a mere quirk of the lips.

“You learned  _ for  _ me? But why?” 

“Because someone once said that there are a million different love languages, so I-- well, I decided right then and there that I would love you in all of the different languages possible. And cooking was one of them, so I… I thought I’d cook for you,” he was quite bashful now, and he regretted putting his hat down. But he refused to hide his face, to hide his eyes, which held nothing but overflowing love for his husband. 

“Oh, Snufkin…” Moomintroll’s voice was a mere breath, and his baby blue eyes had opened wide and teary, as though he would burst into tears at any moment. But instead, he just grasped the end of the Vagabond’s scarf, tugging him close and cupping his face with his free paw as he tilted his head to that perfect angle. In one swift motion, the two had their lips locked in a kiss they had waited all winter to share. 

Snufkin instantly melted into the embrace, and he moved his own paws to trail delicate fingertips along the outline of the Moomin’s ears, to run them through his white fur, a little matted from lying in bed all day but still soft. The kiss felt perfect, it was ambrosia to the Mumrik and he could get drunk off of the sensation that came with the warmth, the comfort, the familiarity. As the two parted, his heart fluttered in his chest, and he was left with a dumb smile, all soft and dripping honey on his tickled pink face. 

“Moomintroll, my dearest love, I hate you,” he cooed, nearly leaning in for another before regaining self-control. 

“I’m sorry, I really am, but you can’t just  _ say  _ that; I almost started crying. It was either cry or kiss your husband, and I chose the latter,”

“The former wouldn’t have made me sick!” 

“But the latter did feel much better, you must admit,” this, Snufkin decided, could not be argued with, and he just laughed, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the troll’s snout, who made a small, happy noise in reply, looking rather lethargic.

“Sleepy?” He asked quietly, smiling. 

“Only a little,” his eyes drooped heavily, head nodding off. 

“You should get some rest. You’ll get better sooner,” 

“I suppose so,” 

“I’ll stay with you, if you’d like,” Snufkin offered, seeing his husband’s face light up at this notion. 

“Oh, will you? But aren’t you afraid you’ll get sick?” He snuggled deep into his bed, eyes glimmering up at the Mumrik as though he had promised him all of the wealth in the world. 

“Well, I already kissed you, didn’t I? And I suppose a little cold is worth being able to lay with an angel such as yourself the first day back,” the Mumrik smiled, taking his scarf off and placing it with his hat and boots. He stretched, back popping, muscles suddenly aching and exhausted; the weight of traveling hadn’t hit him until this very moment, and he was most grateful to have a bed to sleep in. Moomintroll scooted over, peeling the blanket back and making room for the smaller beast, who gladly slipped in beside him, their tails instantly curling around one another as though the longing was so powerful every part of their bodies wanted to be together. As soon as he was close enough, Moomintroll wrapped the Vagabond in a warm embrace, snuggling close, their two shapes clicking together like pieces of a puzzle. Snufkin wrapped his arms around Moomintroll’s neck, letting the blanket get drawn up and enveloping both of them in warm, blissful cotton. Instantly, the first day of spring felt complete, as though this was all the Mumrik had needed. It didn’t matter whether Moomintroll had moved or not, whether he was at the bridge or not; it only mattered that they were in each other’s arms, deeply in love, never wanting to let go. Their bond was strong, built on a powerful friendship and deepset trust. Their love was unbreakable, untouchable, sacred. Yes, coming home, for Snufkin, didn’t mean returning to the valley. Coming home was being held soft and tight in his beloved Moomintroll’s arms. 

 

\----------

“I knew this would happen.” 

“Open wide, Snufkin, you have to take this medicine, it will clear your head,” 

“I’m not going t--” 

Moomintroll cut the grumbling Mumrik off by catching his nose with his paws and forcefully tilting his head back, shoving the spoonful of disgusting, thick, dark medicine into his mouth. Snufkin gagged something awful, crossing his arms like a child and letting out a large huff. Since becoming sick, he had not only been forced to stay bedridden, but Moomintroll had also dunked him into the bath, scrubbed him clean, and gave him a pair of his old pyjamas to wear while Snufkin’s own well-loved trousers, coat, undershirt, and scarf were drying on a clothesline in the garden after being washed thoroughly. 

“If you hadn’t kissed me, I would be fine, and we would be having adventures right about now,” the Vagabond looked sourly at his husband, sticking his tongue out in mock anger. 

“Yes, my love, but if I hadn’t kissed you, you never would have bathed and I wouldn’t have been able to be alone with you until the nights. You know Little My still tags along when we do  _ anything, _ ” Moomintroll replied calmly, screwing the cap back onto the cold treatment. It was something he had made himself, straight from Grandma’s old book. This comment made the Mumrik flush a soft rose color, hiding a smile behind his lips.

“...I suppose I’ll let you off the hook,” he sighed. He could never argue with simple yet mushy affections.

“Thank you, dear,” Moomintroll smiled, leaning closer. The Mumrik’s heart fluttered in his chest; even after all of this time, the troll still made him feel so wonderful and giddy inside. The butterflies, however, flew away as the Moomin realized something and quickly drew back. “I can’t kiss you, or I’ll get sick again,” he sighed, instead settling to reach out and grab hold of the Vagabond’s paw.

“This cold is so rude,” huffed Snufkin, curling his fingers around his husband’s, rubbing circles into the soft white fur.

“Oh well. It’ll give us time to plan-- or for me to explain plans I have for us, rather. You see, I had all winter dreaming up wonderful dates for us to go on, and I was thinking we…” 

 

For hours, until Snufkin drifted off into a deep sleep, Moomintroll spoke in a sweet, soft voice to him, telling him of a picnic by their favorite peach tree they were to have. Or perhaps an excursion to the waterfall, or a dip in the hot springs. Maybe swimming in the ocean and sun-drying on the warm soft sand once they both fell too exhausted to continue playing about in the cold, salty waters. Or perhaps, they’d even have a night in, putting on slow music and dancing ‘round the kitchen as they both cooked a meal for the pair of them. Snufkin figured that all of these ideas were quite wonderful, and agreed wholeheartedly to all of them. He’d just have to get better, first, and that would only take a few days. 

Until those days passed, Moomintroll would stay by his side, reading to him and taking naps on the big squashy chair he had dragged next to the bed. They spoke of dreams and Snufkin’s travels and new friends and old friends and everything they had wanted to say all winter. Sometimes, they wouldn’t even talk about anything, or they’d sit in silence. And that was okay. Because Snufkin was back, and, sick or not, he and the troll were deeply in love, and no amount of illness could do anything to falter that.

**Author's Note:**

> listen........... i love sickfics so Much. and i have so many soft ideas for these two it's unreal. expect more sappy fics from me, there'll probably be dancing in the future. might even fuck around and make a prequel to this, explaining their proposal and wedding,,, i swear this is the most fun i've had writing in months, i adore sweet stuff like this


End file.
